The One Who Makes Magic
by TheGirlWhoRemembers
Summary: Tag to 3.01, Improvise. With great power, comes great responsibility. "You are a great man with a great gift. You have and will use it for great things." "Would it be fair if we kept his magic for ourselves?" "So you can make your own magic." Mac/Nasha.


AN: Heaps and heaps of spoilers for 3.01, Improvise. I tried to keep them to a minimum in the summary…let me know if you think I should change it?

* * *

 **LAX**

 **LA**

* * *

Mac stared at his face in the bathroom mirror, as he pushed his hair back with a damp hand.

He couldn't possibly be as good a man as everyone said he was, not with what he was about to do.

He swallowed the lump in his throat.

Or he tried to, anyway.

It wouldn't go down.

 _They say home is where the heart is._

 _Trouble is, if your heart's in two places, where do you go? Where is your home?_

He meant what he'd said to Nasha, a few weeks ago now. Her peaceful, simple village in Nigeria, by her side, was where his home was now.

But at the same time…his heart was still with his family here in LA. With Jack. With Bozer. With Riley. With Matty.

He'd known his heart couldn't take that second goodbye. Now, after a few weeks working and living and laughing and loving by their sides that were really just like old times again, like he'd never left…he wasn't sure if his heart could take being away from them again.

And he couldn't just think about himself. Couldn't just be selfish.

Jill's death and their futile search for Murdoc (trust the assassin to intervene just when Mac was about to leave the country, prevent him from leaving and then drop off the radar entirely), trailing him as he left a trail of death (terrible, horrible clues – taunts for Mac) behind just proved that.

Bozer, Riley, Jack, Matty.

They were all right.

No-one could do what he did.

(Except maybe _Oversight_ but Mac was well aware that he was getting on in years and no longer up to the rigours of the job in a way that he was.)

He had a gift.

And so, he had a duty to use it for good.

 _As your friendly neighbourhood Spiderman says, with great power, comes great responsibility._

He hadn't been able to stay at MIT, with Frankie and Smitty and all of their friends, with people just like him, who understood him and spoke his language, the first place he'd _belonged_ in his entire life.

And he knew, deep down, that he'd never be able to live a simple and peaceful life in a simple and peaceful village with a sweet and compassionate and strong and beautiful schoolteacher.

Still, he felt like a jackass for what he was about to do.

Mac pulled that rich green stone on a simple leather thong out from under his shirt, stared at it under the harsh fluorescent lights.

He didn't break his promises.

He'd keep this one, but it felt like he was breaking it all the same.

Keeping it in word, but not in spirit.

Dimly, he heard the airport PA system.

'Now boarding…Flight…to Lagos…'

He looked one more time at his reflection in the mirror, and tucked the necklace back safely under his shirt.

* * *

 **A SIMPLE AND PEACEFUL VILLAGE**

 **SOMEWHERE IN RURAL NIGERIA**

* * *

As soon as she had gotten that very short phone call, she had known.

' _Something…something's happened. There's something I have to do…' He ran a hand through his hair, distracted, like his mind was filling of thoughts of something else. After three months, she knew that sometimes he was like that, that he could not control it, could not control the whirlpool of thoughts that were always in his brain. '…I'm sorry, Nasha, but my flight's been delayed.'_

He would not come back.

Oh, he would, literally.

Angus MacGyver would keep that promise to her that she had not really asked for.

(Her teasing demand had been a reminder, nothing more. That she was here, that she loved him, that of course, she wanted him back.)

(How such a handsome and clever and talented man could be so insecure, she did not know.)

(Perhaps she _did_ know. After all, she was well-renowned in her village for her beauty and her intelligence, and she had also not wanted him – a man of a world far greater than her home, who was worldly and well-travelled and had seen more and would see more than she ever had in her life – to leave her without some kind of token. Some kind of reminder. Something that marked him as _hers,_ even if she knew his friend – the world – needed him more then. Even if she had to share, then.)

But he would never really come back.

* * *

It was a few weeks later when he came to fulfil his promise.

When he'd called her on landing in Lagos, she'd entertained hope (so hard to let go of) that maybe he really was really coming back.

One look at his face, and she told herself sternly she had to let go of that hope.

She could not help but feel another rush of hope when shouts echoed throughout the village, to the schoolhouse where she was finishing her lesson planning after dismissing the children, that the One Who Made Magic was back.

She hardly had time to stand up from her desk when he came into the schoolhouse, striding through the crowd of people like a man on a mission.

(Which, she supposed, he was.)

Some of the older women shooed the gawkers away, and one even closed the door behind them all.

One look at him, and she was finally, finally able to start letting go of that hope.

He would not be back.

He would not stay.

'I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry…'

He really, really was. The rough emotion in his voice, like he was choking back tears, that guilt and shame she could read on his face as easily as the posters on her classroom walls, made it so obvious.

She crossed the distance between them in three long, graceful strides, and raised her hands to his face.

He flinched a little when she moved, like he was expecting her to slap him.

Silly man.

Instead, she cupped the sides of his face with her hands, looked up into his eyes.

'You have a gift. A great gift.' She patted his cheek, a little smile on her face, despite the sadness in her heart. 'And because you are a great man, you choose to use that gift to help people, all the people in the world, no matter how great the sacrifice you must make.' She paused, let that sink in, before continuing, her voice a little firmer now, her gaze into his eyes stronger. 'And you have a family.' He opened his mouth to protest, to say something about how she and her village were his family now, but she made a shushing noise, put a finger on his lips. 'We will always call you family here, but you have one in LA. Your friend Jack who loves Bruce Willis, your friend Bozer who makes that wonderful thing called pastrami, your friend Riley who is even cooler and a better hacker than The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo, your friend Matty who is scarier than she is short.' That made him smile, at least, soft and fond and with so much love, she knew she'd been right - he could never really leave them behind. 'We had you and your magic for three months. _I_ had you and your magic for three months. That…' She swallowed. '…that I can be satisfied with.'

He looked very sad at that, and after a moment of hesitation, as if waiting for some kind of signal from her (she gave a little nod), leaned down and kissed her.

Chaste, but long and lingering.

Full of yearning. Wishes.

'I…I can't…I wish…'

She smiled sadly, pressing gently on the back of his neck until she was leaning her forehead against his.

'I wish, too. But even the One Who Makes Magic cannot grant all of our wishes.' She felt more than saw his nod of acceptance. They stayed there like that for many breaths, before she pulled away a little so she could better look into his eyes, returning her hands to the sides of his face, a gentle smile on her face. 'You are a great man with a great gift. You have and will use it for great things.' She intended for that to be a blessing. Her next words were meant to be a reminder. 'Remember you are just a man, too. Remember to eat and sleep and…' Her smile grew teasing. 'Shave.' He gave a little shake of his head, a wry smile on his face. 'And find yourself a good woman with a kind heart. One who is very good at sharing and whose life can be woven with yours.' That look, the one that meant he had an _Idea,_ appeared on his face, and he opened his mouth, but she shushed him again. She knew his father was a Very Important Man, and they could probably find a way for her to move to LA, but that was far from what she had meant. 'You cannot ask me to leave my family and my job, my calling, my duty, just as I cannot ask you to leave yours.' Again, although sadly, he nodded in acceptance, even admiration. 'Oh dah-boh, Mac. Goodbye. I wish you great happiness.'

He stared at her for a long moment, like he was memorizing her face.

Then, he gave a jerky little nod and raised his hands from her waist to his neck, pulling out her necklace.

She shook her head with a smile.

'Keep it. As a gift and to help you remember.'

He shook his head, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

'I won't forget you. It's impossible.'

'Well, it cannot hurt.'

She used her hands to close his fingers over the stone, tucked it back under his shirt for him, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead.

'Thanks.' He reached into his pocket, and pulled out something that she had only seen photos of. A Swiss Army knife, but nothing like the ones in the photos he'd shown her. This one had a wooden cover, painted (presumably by him) in the pattern of her favourite headscarf. 'This…this is for you.'

She took it, smile widening, arching her eyebrows at him teasingly.

'To remember you by?'

He shook his head.

'So you can make your own magic.' Her smile widened a little more, and she very carefully tucked it into her skirt pocket. He tucked two fingers under her chin, stared into her eyes for a moment, then kissed her one more time. When they both had to breathe again, he rested his forehead against hers, then closed his eyes for a breath, and straightened up, shouldering his leather satchel (a messenger bag, not that large bag he'd taken with him when he'd left) properly again. 'Oh dah-boh, Nasha. I wish you great happiness too.'

* * *

The day after Mac had left again, Nasha was standing on one of her pupil's desks, fixing a leak in the ceiling of her classroom with the aid of an old plastic fertilizer bottle, a couple of screws that had once belonged to a broken bicycle and her new Swiss Army knife.

(Mac had repaired the roof during his three months, but new leaks were always springing up.)

(He had taught her plenty of tricks.)

Her students started trickling in, bringing with them noise and laughter and energy. They watched her fixing the roof for a moment, before one of them, a boy called Bayode, her most outgoing student, raised his hand.

'Omidan Nasha, is MacGyver gone forever?'

She swallowed, refusing to cry in front of her students (forever was a very harsh way of putting it), and nodded at Bayode with a sad little smile.

'I do not know about forever, but he is not going to live with us again.'

That made the classroom erupt in chatter.

'But everyone said he was in love with you!'

'If he loved you, Omidan Nasha, why would he leave?'

'What are we going to do without his magic?'

She waited for her children to quiet a little bit, get that initial shock out of their systems, before clapping her hands together in the pattern she used for _quiet, it's time to listen to Omidan Nasha._

Then, she sat down on the desk, gestured for the kids to gather around her and spoke very seriously.

'You called him The One Who Makes Magic. Would it be fair if we kept his magic for ourselves? Would it be fair if I stopped him from going and helping people all over the world?' All the little heads shook very seriously. 'Exactly. He helped us for three months. That is a lot of magic.' Everyone nodded. 'But we were doing fine before he and his magic came too, right?' More nods. Nasha got up from her perch on the desk. 'And he taught us many things.' The kids all nodded again, and as one, pointed to the sides of their heads and shouted out, _improvise!_ Nasha smiled widely, fondly and a touch sadly, then pulled out her phone and pulled up a YouTube video on making a DIY water-wheel, placing it on the desk so her kids could watch. 'We can make our own magic.'

* * *

AN: Yay? Nay? This came over me and would not let me rest until I'd written it!

I really hope that Nasha and Mac get an ending like this in canon (it's the best ending I can think of for them; I don't think they can possibly have a future), but I'm sceptical as to whether the writers will do this on screen. (Their track records with Mac's love life are in my opinion questionable…) Ergo, I had to write this.

I hope you guys like the tone, and the way I've portrayed their relationship and Nasha. We got very little of her on screen, but she's sort of blossomed into a personality in my head, and I hope you guys like that personality!

Oh dah-boh is (according to the Internet) Yoruba for goodbye, phonetically. Apologies to anyone who speaks Yoruba if I've mangled it!


End file.
